


It Would Have Been

by kronette



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode: s03e04 Children of Earth - Day 4, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:55:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only Jack bloody Harkness could come up with new ways to toss him arse over head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Would Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't realize this was a completed story until I opened the file - I guess I was too messed up to properly review it . Plus, I had broken a toe and sprained a ligament only two weeks after Children of Earth aired, so I was in no shape, literally, to post anything.

"Ianto! We're having a baby!"

Only Jack bloody Harkness could come up with new ways to toss him arse over head.

Man from the 51st century? Slightly unbelievable, but his Torchwood London orientation _had_ included a briefing on The Doctor, so he'd kept an open mind.

Fifty-first century man who pumped out erotic pheromones? His near-instant attraction to Jack had made more sense when he used the pheromones as an excuse, but he hadn't needed an excuse for over two years. He hadn't lied to Martha Jones about the innovative and avant-garde nature of their dabbling - it had been very effective in making him forget.

Jack had been a full-body distraction from the shit that was his life. He'd lost the one good job he'd had in his life. He'd lost his first honest-to-God serious girlfriend to metal men. He'd tried to save what was left of his girlfriend while he'd kept her existence secret from his boss-pseudo-maybe-lover. He'd hated himself a little more each day as he'd tested the boundaries of his sexuality while Lisa lay dying several levels below them.

Still at Torchwood after he'd betrayed Jack's trust? Impossible. The debacle that had been Lisa's escape into the Hub should've had him killed or retconned back to before Torchwood London. He'd been deceitful, bold, clever, industrious, cautious, charming, foolish, manipulative, smart and cunning. He'd held a gun to his boss' head; a boss who had every right to retcon him after the deaths of two civilians, not to mention the threat to Earth he'd nearly unleashed.As he'd knelt on the blood- and gray matter-soaked floor, he'd lost himself in blinding grief that he'd failed Lisa, and self-hatred at the relief that she'd died good and proper.

When he'd exhausted his tears, the sense that something had changed urged him to open his eyes. He'd found himself on the couch upstairs, nestled between Jack's legs, Jack's solid chest against his back, Jack's arms wrapped around him, JackJackJACKJACKJACK. He'd choked on a sob he'd not thought he had left as his hands had gripped Jack's arms around him, as he'd swayed back and forth against Jack's support, as he'd felt Jack's breath at his ear, as he'd picked up on Jack's low murmuring. He'd been unable to make out the words, but the cadence had been soothing and soon, he'd fallen asleep wondering whether Jack had preferred retcon or poison. That he'd been allowed to live and kept his memories had taken some time to get used to.

Jack had nearly done him in when he'd explained that he couldn't die. Oh, Jack had _died_ ; he'd seen that with his own eyes. He'd felt it in his gut. Jack just couldn't stay dead. He would revive after any sort of death, and he'd listed a hell of a lot of deaths that he'd endured. It had taken seeing with his own eyes to fully believe: Jack had revived four days after he'd had the life drained out of him by Abbadon. Since then, Jack had been shot, stabbed, tossed off buildings and electrocuted. He'd always come back.

He'd taken all that in stride, so Jack's odd fascination with the 1940s had come across as an endearing quirk. Especially when Jack had worn the coat. That gorgeous, flaring, completely over-the-top WWII RAF coat with the epaulets and real brass buttons. He didn't know if there had been another like it. He hadn't wanted another one; he had wanted _Jack's_ , warmed from Jack's body and threaded with the lingering effects of those powerful pheromones. The antique Webley, jumpers _and_ belt, t-shirt and blue sweater - it would've been a mockery on any one else, but on Jack Harkness, it had been perfect.

Lisa. Breacon Beacons. The slow build-up after Suzie's death. The setback of Billis Manger's interference with the Rift. The Doctor. Jack's absence. A proper date. Flirting. Lovers from Jack's past. Teasing. Intimacy. Lovers from Jack's future. Grief. More proper dates. Laughter. A flat key. Owen. Tears. Tosh and Owen. Loss. Daleks. Tears of defeat. Tears of joy.

Strangers had assumed they were a couple. Despite Jack's cautious deflections, he'd still felt a thrill down his spine.

When they'd started to 'switch up', so to speak, Jack had dropped his latest bombshell. He, Jack Harkness, had the capability to become pregnant and carry a child to term. How those words had made his heart race! Terrified and dizzy and amazed. He could get Jack pregnant and they could have a _child_?

"Ianto! We're having a baby!"

The smile had formed without his knowledge as he'd finished the distance to the med bay at a jog. He'd felt his smile falter, but quickly shored it up, as the projection had come into focus. Jack hadn't been pregnant; it had been Gwen.

_One deep breath. He counts his heartbeats growing louder. Feels himself falling._

Despite Jack's assurance that it had required more than "regular" sex (like Jack had ever known what that _was_ ) to initiate the process, he'd been unable to stop thinking -- a child of theirs. His and Jack's child with his photographic memory and Jack's - well, _Jack_ \- their child would have been amazing. Smart and clever, mischievous and sly, an outrageous flirt, yet he would've been a gentlemen with impeccable taste in clothes and manners.

Jack's voice is rising and falling. Can't make out words. Just the cadence of Jack's voice calms him. Doesn't remember why he needs calming.

A lump had formed in his throat as the thought that their child may not have been a boy, but instead a girl, had come to him. He'd missed the birth of his niece Mica by several weeks, only coming round to visit his sister when the guilt had outweighed his self-preservation. Mica had been a wee thing, a shaft of dark hair and dark blue eyes and fists that had thumped harmlessly against his chest as Rhiannon had placed her in his arms.

Senses Jack everywhere. Good, yeah? Hands. Tears. Love. Tears.

His and Jack's child. A perfect little girl who had a wicked sense of humour and a vicious left hook. Tough like Gwen. Maths like Tosh. Heart like Owen. Dedication like Suzie. Laugh like Lisa. Love like Jack and Ianto.

He's on the couch nestled between Jack's legs, Jack's solid chest against his back, Jack's arms wrapped around him, JackJackJACKJACKJACK. Ianto closes his eyes and dreams of the child they'll have one day.

End


End file.
